Not Ideal, But Not Impossible
by moonservant
Summary: AU Season 2. An unplanned pregnancy places Alana further into the midst of Hannibal and Will's dangerous dance. Now all three of them must reconsider the others as they figure out this new dynamic. AlanaxHannibalxWill
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Two things I'd like to make clear as this story proceeds. First, the timeline will vary dramatically from the actual S2 timeline, because it doesn't seem realistic, especially given the flashbacks of S3. Without the "12 weeks earlier" flashback, it could easily encompass a year. Second, I've inserted Ardelia Mapp from the books because 1) she's a wonderful character and 2) Alana needs a female friend. Clarice has been injected into several different characters, and I want to do that now with Alana in a few little ways.**

 **Beyond that, I hope you enjoy this idea I've been toying with for awhile. Apologies if it's a slow start, but these are the obvious plot points that needed establishing.**

 **Disclaimer: These characters are obviously not my creation, and I appropriate them to entertain, though not profit.**

* * *

"Jennie won't be coming to office hours after all. Looks like a very dull two hours of lecture prep then," Alana lamented to Ardelia as she dropped her phone back into her gym bag. She continued to brush her hair while her colleague and former college roommate finished dressing.

"Good. I'll bring tea and you're going to tell me what's bothering you." The pit in Alana's stomach dropped further and she shoved her yoga pants into her bag more forcefully than necessary.

"Nothing's—"

"You and 'namaste' are light years apart. If its confidential Ripper stuff, then of course I won't pry, but otherwise, your soul needs unburdening." She considered lying again, but it wouldn't help matters by delaying. Besides, despite her occasional flair for the dramatic, she trusted no one to dole out such levelheaded life advice quite like her, so she accepted the offer and pulled her hair into a high bun. There was little need for professionalism now.

The two professors walked back to their offices from the university gym, Ardelia doing an excellent job of filling pre-serious talk time by griping about her TA and committee drama, which did make Alana laugh as she remembered that not all work place disturbances were life or death. Hopefully her life would be a degree more normal in a few days though if Miriam could provide insight into her capture. As Ardelia made one of her grandmother's many occasion teas, Alana posted a sign on her door announcing that she was available for consultation in case any students did actually drop in, and turned on her iPod to stop eavesdropping. Her face was buried in her hands when Ardelia nudged the door shut with her hip, hands full with two steaming mugs. She took a sip of the lemon-chamomile blend, thankful that her friend always stopped the kettle before the water was completely boiled, and resisted the urge to tell Ardelia for the thousandth time to take her feet off her desk. Instead, she mirrored her friend's pose.

"Is Will bothering you now that he's out? You always seemed close but after what happened…" Ardelia trailed off to let Alana answer. She shook her head no. She always advised her patients that simplicity was the easiest place to start, but she found that advice hard to follow.

"I'm pregnant." She dared look over at her friend who nodded gently at her feet. Her lips were pulled into a firm line indicating she was already formulating several plans.

"How do you feel about that? Do you know what you want to do?" She asked the questions gently, not requiring an immediate answer. Alana took another sip of her tea as she let her emotions wash over her.

"I'm frustrated. I hadn't imagined this happening like this. It's really not a good time for either of us to deal with this." A heavy pause. "Scared about telling him… About people finding out." A purposeful sip. "Annoyed that I am feeling things that I've helped patients work through. Besides, I'm not a teenager. I'm 32. This isn't an unusual condition for people our age."

"Well, when trying to make tenure it is, you overachiever." Ardelia dropped her feet to the floor and resumed a more serious attitude. "You're feeling completely legitimate things. You had expectations of this moment, and this isn't it. Even perfectly planned pregnancies can start with fear and anxiety." Alana took comfort in her friend's words even though she objectively knew all this. "When did you find out?"

"Friday."

"As a therapist, I understand you needed to process. As your best friend, I'm appalled you didn't tell me immediately. We could be having this discussion in sweats with ice cream." Alana's laugh turned into sobs and she swiped at the escaping tears. She'd already done this a few times and was determined to stop these spells. Ardelia studied her mug until Alana had control over herself again.

"Will's going to be so mad when he finds out," she said with a last dab at her eyes.

"Forgive me, you know I like the man, but fuck Will for the moment. You have two bigger concerns. First, it sounds like you're currently planning to continue this. Is that right and how confident are you feeling about that?"

"Pretty damn confident. It'll keep me from trying to steal your nieces." While her relationship past was rocky, she'd always wanted children, and in her heart of hearts, she knew this wasn't the worst situation possible even if it was far from ideal. Ardelia nodded, cogs clearly turning.

"Second, I'm assuming it's Hannibal's." Alana nodded, though it was an unnecessary gesture. "Any idea when or how you want to tell him?" She drained the rest of her tea and realized she wouldn't be able to have a stronger drink for another seven to eight months.

"We're supposed to have dinner tomorrow, so sometime then."

"Then come over tonight. Forget papers or whatever, and I'll make you dinner, we'll sing along to Labyrinth, and rehearse what you want to say. I can even put a suit on if it helps!" They shared a laugh and agreed to tacos and movies.

They spent the rest of her office hours going through another three mugs of tea and venting the rest of her mixed up emotions as Ardelia got the name of her sister's ob/gyn and set up Alana's initial appointment. Nothing she did or said was particularly profound, but the acceptance, support, and occasional sarcastic comment made the nervous knot feel a little less toxic. By 4 o' clock as they walked out to their cars, she felt ready for a mostly fun and highly therapeutic night, but a call from Jack ruined everything.

"I need you to come in immediately." She stopped walking and turned away from Ardelia. "We're holding Chilton for the murders of Abel Gideon and two Baltimore officers. I want you to question him." She'd be there in less than an hour. After thanking her friend for her support, she dashed for the nearest Metro station and worked to shift her focus from her personal problems to the larger one at hand. However, the two seemed to merge together. By the time she reached the interrogation room, she was filled with righteous anger. Fredrick Chilton had been there from the start, leading them away from him this whole time. Beyond his numerous victims, he'd made Will's life, Hannibal's life, her life unbearable at times. It seemed so beyond his capabilities, but then, that was the genius of his act. Though now it seemed so clear. She'd get him to say something, indicate something that would let Miriam identify him as her capture and Hannibal's name would be cleared. Will would have to forgive him, and with time, perhaps things could go back to something like before. This could all be over in just a few minutes.

XXX

The next day was spent in much the same way as the previous evening: giving statements to various investigation teams about Miriam's shooting and the brief interview with Chilton, her lengthily work experience with Dr. Chilton, her impressions of Miriam, and spending an hour with another therapist to insure she was not too traumatically scarred from the experience. The truth was, it had happened before she fully registered something had occured. One second, Chilton was declining to speak until his lawyer arrived, and the next, he was falling below the table in a blur of red and shattered glass. His face was obscured by the table even as his hands remained cuffed above, and Zinner and Price were in there to care for him before she could act. After everything she'd read and seen as an FBI consultant, a man being shot in the face was shocking, but not horrifying. In fact, by the time she emerged into the cold, winter evening, she felt numb more than anything else. She drove home cursing every minute of Beltway traffic, fed Applesauce and threw a ball into the snow a few times, and finally sunk into the bath. As the warmth pricked feeling back into her body, she called Ardelia back.

"I saw your class was cancelled. What happened? You all right?" She hummed an affirmative into the phone and set about shaving her legs. It probably wouldn't matter much in the course of the evening considering what lay ahead, but it made her feel more human. "Given the amount of time you had to take off last year for consulting and now already missing class so early in the semester, you need to be careful not to appear flaky. You know how hard the review process is."

"Yes, but Admin should understand that this is a particularly difficult time. The news—"

"I know, but there are a ton of postdocs who would not take a second position. Your resume looks good to a point, but then they start seeing a lack of commitment." Alana sighed and switched to her other leg.

"Can we not talk about this right now? I still have another few hours in this hellish… 36 hours."

"What happened?"

"That's confidential, but you know what tonight is."

"From what you've told me and the few times I've met him, he seems highly composed. He'll probably be shocked, but I can't imagine he'll fly off the wall. But to be safe, wear your red dress. The one you can't wear to work."

"This is a casual dinner and I'm feeling puffy. Listen, I'm actively bathing right now and need to pick up the pace. I'll let you know how it goes." Ardelia wished her luck and hung up. Her thoughts now settled on what would happen. She and Hannibal hadn't seen each other since shortly after Will's release. She figured they'd have plenty to catch up on to take them through dinner, and afterwards, when they were properly relaxed, she could bring this up in a calm, controlled manner. Still, Ardelia's advice wasn't completely wasted, and she plugged in her curling iron and chose a red silk blouse to dress up looser jeans. While Hannibal was not a shallow man and they had years of friendship predating this affair, it wouldn't hurt to dress up. A bit of make up, a few waves in her hair, and she felt as ready as she'd ever be. Her hands barely shook as she drove, and with a little extra speed, she was right on time.

She'd barely knocked before Hannibal opened the door with a gust of garlic and rosemary. "Good evening, Alana." The sight of him in his apron with pushed up sweater sleeves both relaxed and calmed her, and she reminded herself to act natural. It shouldn't be this hard. She returned his smile and kissed him when the door closed against the cold.

"Dinner smells amazing." He helped her out of her coat and she felt his gaze linger just long enough for her liking. So far, so good.

"I hope you don't mind I started cooking without you. Jack told me what happened yesterday, so I thought you might prefer to relax." That knot tightened with guilt as she followed him to the kitchen.

"I appreciate that, but really, I'm fine. It's nothing he didn't deserve." Hannibal gave her a pointed look as he gave frying potatoes a quick stir.

"You're so confident he's the Chesapeake Ripper? Even with my finger print among the evidence?" He walked towards the fridge. This was something she'd wrestled with last night. He was supposed to be considered innocent until proven guilty, but Miriam had essentially proven that guilt in her mind. She didn't want to say it felt good to know he was tasting the smallest bit of his own medicine, but then she remembered that night at the pool. Though Will technically orchestrated that nightmare, it was in pursuit of Chilton and she'd rather him ultimately take the blame.

"The physical evidence is overwhelmingly against him. He fits the psychological profile, and it would be like the Ripper to frame someone else. Oh…" she trailed off as Hannibal opened a growler of her special beer. "I shouldn't drink tonight."

"Shouldn't?" She bit the side of her tongue as she tried to think of an equally truthful excuse.

"It's been a long day, and I feel that might put me to sleep more than anything." He gave her a comforting smile and traded the jug with a bottle of sparkling water instead.

"That's probably wise for both of us. I too had an exciting evening by a very different definition." Despite her curiosity, she didn't press for detail as he turned off the stove, covered the pan, and removed his apron. "The chicken should be ready soon. Salad and bread are already on the table." Grabbing the water bottle and her glass, she followed him into the dining room where salad was indeed plated in their usual spots. They both settled in, buttered rolls, and took a few bites of course one before he continued. "Will came to his session last night." She lowered her fork and swallowed with a now-dry mouth.

"To resume therapy or to threaten you?" Hannibal seemed to find this amusing as he chuckled into his water glass, which sparked a frustration deep in her chest. Even as he wore the marks of Will's attack, he found mirth in her concern.

"The former. There is still tension between us. He betrayed me and in his mind, I am not yet innocent. But I believe with time, renewed trust building, and if you'll allow me, my own expertise, we may be able to reach a new sense of peace and normality. These are strange events we must all heal from in our own way." There was truth in his words and it calmed her slightly. With the truth revealed, healing could start. Especially with new beginnings on the horizon. Her face grew warm with a burst of nerves and she wasn't sure if Hannibal looked suspicious or if she was projecting.

"I have faith in your skills, and you know I hope it all works out. But please be careful."

"I always am." The timer beeped from the kitchen and Alana finished her salad as Hannibal plated the main course of chicken, potatoes, beets, and greens. Their new course of conversation matched the simplicity and comfort of the dish. He asked after her classes and she relayed her latest frustrations with journal publishers, which he offered assistance with. This was familiar and relaxing. They hadn't talked like this in a long time as Will's arrest and trial hung over them like a thick fog. Long after the plates are cleaned, he had her belly laughing as he related his own early publishing nightmares. "There is a reason I didn't pursue academia." She took a long drink when she was no longer having fits and removed the napkin from her lap.

"It'll be worth it eventually." She stood and took his plate. "I'll clean up if you make coffee to go with whatever dessert is."

"And what if you are dessert?" The glint in his eye and that small, predatory smile brought a flush to her cheeks, but she rose to the challenge.

"Then I still pair well with coffee." She let him grab her for another kiss, but pulled away before it could get too heated. Her confidence wavered as she turned away, but her voice felt steady as she called back, "But I did see two bowls in the fridge and I'm dying to know what you really have planned." Her composure was back in place by the time he brought the rest of the dishes to the kitchen for her to load into the dishwasher while he set the kettle to boil and ground coffee beans. They worked in companionable silence and when she finished before him, she took a moment to admire the man before her. He moved with a self-assurance that felt neither rehearsed nor pretentious, but graceful and fluid. Perhaps akin to a dancer. He likely could have been one in another life. Her eyes watched his long fingers curl around the kettle handle as he filled the French press. Would their child have his musician's hands or her builder's ones? Regardless, if he chose to be involved, they'd likely be in piano or violin lessons before the age of five. Her heart rate picked up and she feels her palms grow damp.

The scent of brewing coffee hit her like a wall of acidic bitterness and she ran to the living room struggling to breath and not vomit. She'd read about this happening, but it was still surprising that something she loved so much could smell so repulsive. The scent lingered in her nose and she gagged into her hand.

She was hunched over taking deep breaths when Hannibal reached her. "What just happened? Are you feeling all right?" She trembled under his touch and refused to meet his gaze with watering, possibly teary eyes. "Talk to me, Alana. What do you need? What can I do for you?" He guided her to the sofa and held the hand clutching her knee as she tried to speak.

"I need to tell you something." Her voice only shook a little. Hannibal went still. He never froze, she'd learned, but he took on a cat-like stillness when he worked through problems. This one couldn't be too hard to solve. "But then, you've already guessed it, haven't you? Not drinking, new adverse reactions to food, I'd even believe you can smell something different about me." He didn't speak or move, but when she looked at him, she didn't see anger. She couldn't guess what he was feeling, but she was certain anger was not it. "I want to go through with this, but I also don't plan to make demands of you. I know this changes things between us, for our friendship, our working relationship, and whatever these past two months have been. I don't know how, but I do hope in the coming weeks we can try to figure it out." He still didn't speak as he released her hand and turned slightly to look at the fireplace. She was definitely crying now. "Unless of course, you already know your preferences, which I… I will respect out of a deep respect for you."

"Oh, Alana." His expression was still a mystery as he looked at her, but his voice was gentle. He laid his arm across the back of the couch between them and wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb. "I saw something bothered you as soon as I opened the door, but I couldn't have guessed until now. How long have you let this gnaw at you?" She leaned into his hand.

"Almost a week. Once I'd come to terms with it myself, tonight was already planned." He gave a small nod, almost careless by his standards.

"That makes sense. You can't be more than six, seven weeks along. It was only that first night we were careless." That was her thinking too. "Who else knows?"

"Only Ardelia. She trapped me during office hours." A slight grin cracked his expression for just a second.

"Yes, Dr. Mapp does seem capable of that. For the time being, as it's so early and situations so tentative, I'd ask you to exercise discretion in those you inform. In particular, Will and Jack don't need to know for awhile." She could respect that. They sat in silence for only the fireplace and the rustling, bare branches outside to fill. He was clearly processing and she was accepting that the very worst had not happened. Regardless of what the next months brought, she would be grateful that he hadn't turned her out immediately. When her heart slowed and her tears were dried, she broke the silence.

"How do you feel about this?"

"Such a cliché line, Dr. Bloom." He took a deep breath and shifted to look at her directly. Their knees rested together. "At this point, I assumed fatherhood was not in my future. I was like a father to my sister for a time. I thought I might be one to Abigail." He paused to think further. "Even knowing the risk, I find I'm surprised even more than I could expect… or like to be." His voice had dropped into a low gravelly whisper as if he spoke to himself. Before her nervousness could return, his gaze commanded her full attention. "However, I am not disappointed." A great weight lifted off her shoulders and she felt she could truly breath easily for the first time in months. He seemed to read her relief and relaxed with her, though not the same extent he was earlier. "You're correct that we have much to figure out, but I think neither of us should say more about the future tonight while emotions are still raw."

"I hadn't quite gotten this far in my head, so I can't disagree." To ensure they were on the same page entirely, she told him of her doctor's appointment next week, but neither made any comment about him attending. Instead, he pulled her against his shoulder and kissed the top of her head.

"I can't offer you dessert since it's tiramisu, but if you care to continue with our evening, you're welcome to stay." She met him with a kiss as response. The love they made that night was intangibly different, but as Alana fell asleep between dark satin sheets, she wouldn't say that it was a bad difference.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: This sets up the events for Su-Zakana. I had a lot of fun writing Hannibal and Will. Enjoy.  
**

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Hannibal added the last bit of shading to his latest drawing of the Madonna and Christ Child while he waited for his second appointment with Will. The variations of these figures had captured his interest as of late. The New Testament was never a favorite of his, but in light of recent revelations, he'd found himself dwelling on the themes of birth, sacrifice, rebirth, and destruction. Was there something inherently destructive in a second coming? Should he find Will ready for Abigail's rebirth, must something break in return?

In the past, he'd fantasized the trio they could form would manifest the corrective destruction through a worthy sacrifice: Jack or Alana probably. The proffered blood would wash away Will's burden and make room for Abigail, for Hannibal. Will had glimpsed him, the real him, but he longed for perfect clarity. He was hopeful Will could eventually come to embrace the truth as it deserved to be known, but what now of the effects?

He'd decided to accept this child as a constant in his equations, but how it affected the variables was still unknown. Did it cancel out certain ones, solidify others, and which new variables did it bring? Of course, it would serve as the perfect sacrifice, and he feared that cruel higher power with many names might share this line of thinking. He would have to guard against that, but how? And where did Alana fit into this?

At 12:50, he placed his sketch, pencils, and sharpening knife in his top desk drawer, donned his suit coat, and refocused his mind to his mental tableaux of Will Graham. In his gallery of acquaintances, Will's was easily the most interesting and most detailed, but also the one most likely to change. Around this imagine, he'd placed the cases they'd consulted on together with contrasting miniatures of his profile and Will's description. They were fascinating to compare and he'd spent several evenings during the imprisonment reviewing them and tasting Will's intimate descriptions all over again. He tried to ignore the one of himself though. That needed only limited and infrequent updating for his own mental health. A knock sounded on the door.

"Hello, Will. Please make yourself comfortable." Will gave him a curt greeting, hung his wool coat and scarf on the coat rack, and deposited himself into the patient armchair. Every movement and look spoke of discomfort and disdain. Hannibal could smell dry erase markers and Quantico's floor cleaner beneath the generic soap clinging to Will's best grey suit. "Did you lecture today?" He took his place across from Will.

"Under supervision as part of my psych eval." He bit into each word as he'd taken to doing lately. It seemed Will's readjustment to freedom was not going as he'd planned. Good.

"You plan on consulting again, I hear. I'll admit, I'm surprised both that you want to and that they'll allow it."

"I guess I'm just that good." Will's caustic attitude relinquished its grip, and he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he rubbed his eyes. "Jack likely hid my involvement in your attack when you didn't press charges. Now that I'm innocent and everyone's convinced the Ripper has been caught, my evaluation and certification is being expedited so I can testify as an expert witness." Hannibal decided to let that sleeping dog lie for now. He wanted to clarify where Will was mentally.

"Is this what you want though? To go back to being Jack Crawford's bloodhound? You were an instructor for several years prior to consulting." Will let his head fall down so his fingers ran through his hair before sitting back up. He looked more normal.

"For now, yes. There is still good I can do in that role." Hannibal gave the slightest hint of a smile. All of Will's actions came down to that motivation: do good, make his corner of the world a better place. It's what he would need to focus on as he shaped his plans.

"And how did it feel to be back at Quantico even in a supervised position?"

"I liked the class. We discussed initial investigations of drug trafficking, nothing particularly exotic or complicated, but…," he sighed, "it was easy to step into, and the class was engaged." Will hardened into the defensive shell he'd crafted. That was disappointing. "I saw Alana today." Hannibal knew he didn't give anything away and only looked professionally inquisitive, but his interest was piqued.

"You haven't seen her since before you broke into my house. What happened?" Will's only response was to glower at him with such distaste that Hannibal feared Alana had broken their confidence. But then, Hannibal imagined if Will had such information, this would have been their first discussion. That secret was still safe then.

"We only spoke for a few moments in the hall. She said she was glad to hear I'm back in therapy. I think she wants to be, but she doesn't trust me with you yet." That was not the real crux of the matter and they waited for Will to get to the point. "Did you tell her or did Jack?" What was behind that question? Hannibal leaned back and tried to gain some clue.

"I don't know if Jack told her, but when we discussed it, she'd not yet heard."

"Why did you tell her?" He weighed the benefits against the possible consequences of the truth.

"Beyond your own relationship as friends and colleagues, you are both very dear friends of mine. Alana's mistrust of you is regrettable, so I offered that information in hopes that it would help mend things between you." Will gave a small, dark laugh.

"I don't know if that will help now." Hannibal wanted to provide some comfort. His first thought was to tell him Alana was not the kind of hold grudges, but he recalled her comments about Chilton. _It's nothing he didn't deserve_. The eternally optimistic postdoc he'd first met was running the risk of becoming jaded. Work was changing her. He set those thoughts aside for later. Will spoke again, sounding pained. "I have very few expectations of the world anymore, and of those that remain, most are extremely dark. I guess it's what comes when most of the people I know, in one way or another, are killers. She is one of those few remaining light things. You've known her longer than I have and in different capacities. Please tell me you see that and value that." Again, Hannibal did not let his appearance change as he chose his next words.

"You have my word. She faces no harm from me." _For now_. They both knew the potential for that attachment, but it would have to suffice for now. Hannibal adopted a lighter tone of conversation. "Though, knowing her longer, I might question just how unblemished that purity is." Will stared him down.

"She's not Abigail."

"No." Nor was she a good influence on Abigail. Another thought to set aside. "But no one is completely light or dark. You should know this better than anyone."

"I agree while disagreeing to the extent I feel you're assigning her. We should make allowances between normal flaws and the darkness we pursue.

"Are you still romantically interested in Dr. Bloom?" Will immediately grew his incredulous smile, and in this context, it unnerved Hannibal.

"Is this professional curiosity or are you jealous?" He felt himself frown.

"I find that question very insulting, Will. I'll admit many personal faults, but I pride myself on that no being one of them. I simply sought a motive for our debate and I knew you had an interest in the past. That was all." That outer shell returned, but Will offered a simple apology along with a negative answer to his previous question. Now Hannibal regretted his hasty response as it had felt nice to spare with him in such a manner again. "I know you don't view us as friends yet, but allow me to hold out hope. Come for dinner this weekend. I'll invite Jack and Bella if it makes you more comfortable. It's been too long since I've had you at my table."

"Of course." It was not a warm acceptance, but it was a start. Having nothing more to say, or nothing that wanted saying yet, Will ended the session early and Hannibal took a few minutes to study Will's section of the gallery. A new miniature of a beautiful woman with wavy chestnut hair joined the wall. Both interpretations were nearly the same except for the shadows. Before he'd truly gotten his fill, his two o'clock anxiety case arrived five minutes early.

* * *

Hannibal was surprised to find that on an early February Friday, Alana had an undergrad in her office. Remarkable as the occurrence was, he stood outside his old office to eavesdrop for a second.

"If Freud has been debunked, then why does critical theory use his ideas for literature analysis? Life influences art and so don't we see examples of this theories in real life?" a young man asked with a passion indicating he was not a psychology major.

"I don't know enough about that to answer your question directly. This is a major debate within the scholarly community, which I would encourage you to pursue for the final. But for the midterm paper, I won't accept the Oedipus complex or any of his other theories as an appropriate topic." She sounded tired, so he decided to interrupt with a knock against the open door. Both she and the boy with fake glasses turned towards him.

"I'm here when you're finished," he said as if he were expected. The student declined having any more questions and Alana reminded him of the proposal timeline before he left. They both waited for him to take the stairs before speaking.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Dr. Lecter?"

"I was needed at headquarters this morning, and since I cleared my schedule for the day, I thought I could stop by. May I come in?"

"Of course!" She reached for a piece of paper and cut a strip of tape. "Stick that up and then shut it behind you." He performed the task and took the more comfortable of the two mismatched chairs she had available. "Ardelia brought in leftover jambalaya. Do you want some?" she asked as she opened the microwave door, flooding the office with a wave of spice. His first instinct was to decline, but Alana shared his passion for quality food, so he took the risk. She produced a second bowl and spoon from a desk drawer and divided the Tupperware contents.

"My compliments to Dr. Mapp."

"I will pass on such high praise. What did Jack need you for?"

"Not Jack. I was asked for a recommendation for Will's return to service. Which I did recommend." He could tell she disagreed, but did not enter that debate. "How did your appointment go?" Alana shoved her spoon into her bowl.

"Fine." She stirred the rice around with nervous energy. "Everything looks well, and they're saying August 23rd for a due date.

"And that's all?" She was clearly concealing something.

"Yeah." Connections were made and Alana stopped her agitated stirring. "Oh! I have plenty complaints about the appointment itself that Ardelia got an earful about, but I will spare you those details. Physically, everything is fine." Her eyes darted away from him. "I have a picture if you want to see." As he set down his bowl, he considered saying no. The situation with Will and Abigail was so uncertain, he wasn't sure if he was ready for this to be that concrete.

"Of course." That was needless abstraction. The ultrasound image was identical to every other taken at this stage: a roughly bean shape that had the barely visible ridges of the nose and limb buds. However, despite having seen similar images, a shiver ran down his spine knowing this one was his.

Suddenly, he was two years old and his mother was helping him hold baby sister. The wrinkly, pink newborn with only a small tuft of black hair and bright blue eyes had lain between his feet while his little arm, supported by his mother, held her head. She fell asleep almost immediately. "Mischa likes you, Hannibal. You'll be a very good big brother."

He banished those thoughts. This time would be different. He'd make sure of it. She would not meet that end. It. He shouldn't assume such things and grow attached to unsupported whims. Silently, he handed the picture back to Alana. He could feel her eyes search him for a reaction and he forced a very convincing smile.

"Thank you for showing me that." There was the potential she was beginning to know him too well, or this carefully crafted version of him as would be more appropriate to say, since she didn't seem fully convinced. He wasn't sure if that was a comforting idea.

"You're welcome to know as much or little as you'd like." He added that to his steadily growing list of things needing consideration. A thorough conversation about this future would need to happen eventually and likely sooner rather than later.

"Noon traffic should have eased by now." He stood and gathered his coat and bag. She rose to walk him out. "Jack, Bella, and Will are coming to dinner Sunday. Would you join us?" Her gaze turned to the bookshelf.

"No. I'm not ready for that yet, even if it does mean missing your food," she added, turning back to him with the smile he couldn't resist. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear and then stepped in for a kiss. The spices still clinging to her lips enhanced her flavor, so he let it linger a moment longer.

"Your company will be missed. Take care of yourself."

"Be careful."

He left, but did not immediately go home. Instead, he headed for his second anonymously owned cabin where Abigail currently stayed. He brought her additional supplies, books, and discussed last week's reading assignments. She showed him the knife she was attempting to make from salvaged antler. He told her nothing of his evolving plans.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: As promised, this is my take of Su-Zakana. I think this is one of the most beautiful and scariest episodes of the whole series and it seems like it should have had way more implications on the rest of the season. After this, things go much more AU. Hopefully that will be up soon. My apologies for the delay. Thesis research, my original story, and the end of summer all demanded a bit more time.  
**

* * *

After Sunday's dinner, Hannibal was sure Jack's presence was a negative influence on Will. Their therapy sessions had been rather tame, not quite relaxed, but overly polite. However, with Jack seated across from Will, he now seemed torn between accepting Jack's conclusions and needing to prove the truth. He passively allowed Jack to speak for him, to say the things he thought Hannibal needed to hear, and overall, Will played the part with such a cloud of hostility, Hannibal had to wonder if the glimmers of progress he'd seen had just been an illusion. Of course, it wasn't all bad as Will had tested the lengths of Jack's leash by directing a few cannibalism barbs at Hannibal. He'd tried to act indifferent or even a little disappointed at Will's remarks for Jack's sake, but it was so thrilling to hear such acknowledgments without the threat of imprisonment.

Will's behavior also opened a second, discomforting possibility. Jack Crawford still did not trust Hannibal. He hadn't blamed Jack for his initial suspicion following Will's continued accusations. As head of Behavioral Science, it would have been reckless for him not to follow every lead, so Hannibal had cooperated after covering every trail. However, he'd hoped using Alana as an alibi for Gideon's abduction and so thoroughly framing Chilton would have ended this. He supposed he should take this as a compliment that Jack agreed he was clever enough to execute such deception, but it was highly inconvenient. As he consulted the next morning on a highly visionary murder involving a strangled woman being encased in a horse's womb to be reborn, he'd tried to assess Jack's opinion of him, but found nothing one way or the other. But he chose not too dwell on it for too long at the moment, and by the next day, his fortunes seemed to otherwise improve. His new patient, Margot Verger, so far seemed a worthy candidate for his less orthodox practices, Will was relatively conversational, and the day ended with Jack texting him to say a live bird was discovered in the woman's chest. Such a development was sure to have Will back in the field and then he could more easily assess where everyone stood. Worry did no good.

* * *

Will was working through the wording of his afternoon lecture when Alana walked in. He finished his sentence even as he watched her move through the raised seats. She seemed unwell, her skin and lips paler than normal, and lethargy affected her movements. He supposed it was winter and the flu was going around, but she didn't otherwise seem to be succumbing to or recovering from illness. Perhaps something, or someone, was emotionally distressing her?

"I did always enjoy listening to you practice." It wasn't said unkindly, but he was aware of how far things had changed between them. He wanted to shout the truth at her, make her see how all the dots connected, or perhaps carry her so far away that Hannibal could never find her. He wanted her trust again, but he'd be content with just her safety.

"Barring more incarceration or murder attempts, I should be around for awhile. You're always welcome to listen." She didn't give him an answer.

"Jack asked me to tell you you've been approved, and he wants you to meet him in an hour to head for the stables. I'll cover your class today."

He walked her through the class, but he only gave it part of his attention. A feverish part of his brain was beginning to panic. This would be his first time consulting, getting into a killer's mindset with Hannibal acting as support instead of opposition, since his illness. Though he'd come to realize what had been happening, he knew he was still changed by the experience. What he didn't know was if that change stemmed for being betrayed, wrongly accused, and still disbelieved, or if Hannibal had managed to change something fundamental about him. He felt this case might be a test he wasn't sure he could pass.

"Do you think I'm ready?" he asked at the end of the outline. Alana's expression softened and he saw more tenderness from her than he'd seen in a long time. Some of her light was shining towards him and he didn't know if he was worthy.

"Everyone else says so. We'll have to trust in that." He felt worse.

"What do you think?" Her hand hesitated, but eventually she did rest it on his shoulder.

"You shook my perceptions of you so fundamentally. I've heard Hannibal and Jack's assessments of what drove you to it and why they can forgive you." Her eyes searched him, but he avoided her gaze in case she possibly looked through him and saw something frightening. "And I won't say they're not valid arguments. Prove to me the Will I knew is still there." She scooped up his notes and left the room. It would have to do.

* * *

Alana dropped into the plastic chair when the last of the students left the lecture hall. She was exhausted these days and her changing senses had hit with a vengeance in the last week. Coffee, eggs, raw meat, and cheese were all unbearable, so while she was being spared morning sickness, she'd still been struggling to eat properly. Until she figured out how to manage this, her energy was seriously compromised. Her phone rang. Stephen Douglas.

"This is Dr. Bloom."

"You weren't at the Department meeting this morning," the head of the psychology department said with his usual condescending drawl. "Would you care to explain your absence?" She rubbed her eyes and leaned onto the table for support.

"I've indicated for the last three semester that I am unavailable Monday and Wednesday mornings because—"

"Because of your extracurricular post, yes. This seems to be a discussion we have more frequently than I'd anticipated. Dr. Bloom, in light of these occurrences and other reports I've heard, I think we should schedule your yearly assessment a few weeks earlier."

"Dr. Douglas, I hardly think—"

"Will the first Friday of March work for you?" She clenched her fist, but agreed to the date. It still gave her time to compile a case in her defense. When the call was over, she grabbed her pen and flung it across the hall. Electric anger tore through her and she wanted to fight something and also just wanted to lie down on this desk and sleep for the next year. She picked her phone back up and considered texting Ardelia for an admin bashing session, but today was her busy day and she wouldn't be available until 10 or so. Instead, she called Hannibal.

"Forgive me inviting myself over, but can I beg dinner from you tonight? Ideally something meaty?" No one seared a better steak than him.

"I'd be happy to accommodate. Will the usual time work?" She slouched all the way forward as she agreed and thanked him. The cool metal supporting her forehead was soothing. A wave of relaxation melted over her. He would know what to do. And she would eat well.

* * *

Will followed Jack back to the car following his examination of the stables. A part of him worried that he was misreading the situation. Could be too sympathetic to this individual? Was there a murderous intent that he couldn't see through the healing the perpetrator had also tried? No, he was sure this was meant well. He reviewed his briefing file, while Jack flipped through another folder in the driver's seat. Lingering for a second, Jack handed him an employment file and a half-sheet of notes in Jack's handwriting.

"Your description possibly sounds like him. Peter Bernadone. He was an animal handler here and previously trained as a veterinary technician. Though he never fully qualified, he was permitted to provide routine care. He left following a head injury. Could this be him?" Will skimmed the resume and evaluation forms stapled to the application.

"Possibly."

"He doesn't live far from here. Let's pay Mr. Bernadone a visit." The drive only took half an hour, and Will had to admit such close proximity did add plausibility that this man was their suspect. The address was for an old wooden house, single story, maybe two bedrooms, a typical sight for Virginia beyond the cities. As they turned into the long, gravel drive, Will saw a man walking towards the grey, equally worn-down barn across the yard. Jack saw him too, and they pulled up in front of barn. Either Peter hadn't heard them coming or he didn't care. Even before entering the barn, they could hear dozens of animals calling from inside.

The walls of cages were alarming at first sight, but the barn had a tall ceiling, so the space managed to not be overwhelming. Will walked slowly amongst the walkways Peter, the frail man ambling away from them, had created. He inspected the cages full of dogs, birds, rabbits, and even a monkey as Jack began his questioning. Will kept an ear open, but mostly he absorbed the animal noises around him. He wondered if Peter found solace in this brand of chaos in the same way he enjoyed the barks, yips, and sounds of nails clipping wooden floors of his pack. A hanging cage of blackbirds caught his eye. They looked like the one found in Sarah's chest.

"There was a bird in her chest. Did you know about that?" He shouldn't know. That was not made public.

"Was the bird alive?" He turned towards Peter. It was an odd response.

"Yes."

"Who… who's taking care of the bird?" Jack continued to question him about Sarah, but those two questions stuck with Will. When he was arrested, his first concern hadn't been about his own well-being or the injustice of the situation; he'd worried about the dogs. Situations reversed, Will would know not to ask about the bird. It looked like he was avoiding the question or didn't care about the human victim, a sin not easily overlooked in a murder investigation. But then, Peter seemed to be avoiding everything. Will traced the scar running through Peter's greasy hair and watched him reach back to accept the photograph from Jack. Thinking through his training on head injuries and motor responses. They were often worsened by stress.

"Are you feeling stressed?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I… I'm worried about the bird. Worried about the bird. I'm sad for her. Sad for the horse, but I can only, can only help the bird." Jack tried to ask him a few more questions, but they didn't need much more. It was clear Peter knew Sarah and the animals, but Will also knew he wasn't the killer. He conceded there was always the possibility there was. Perhaps intense rage overcame those hindrances, but Will didn't honestly see it. A man who couldn't look and touch at the same time and of such a small size would have a hard time holding a struggling woman down to strangle her. He was involved somehow, but he was not the guilty party. Jack agreed to continue investigating Peter's known acquaintances for a better lead, but still wanted to start applying for a warrant.

That night, Will lay in bed, surrounded by the warmth of his dogs, and tried to imagine Peter as the killer, but no matter how he twisted things, he could not make someone who cared so strongly for so many living things commit such an act. Peter probably did put Sarah in the horse, but what led to that?

* * *

Hannibal's arm wrapped around Alana's waist as she rested her head on his shoulder. Their breathing hadn't quite returned to normal and she kicked away the sheets that felt far too warm. She hummed in satisfaction. All her animal needs were properly cared for. A soft rumble pulsed through Hannibal as he sighed to himself.

"This was a more pleasant evening than I planned. What brought this on?"

"Do I need an excuse to be welcome at your table or in your bed?" Shivers ran up her spine as his fingers gently stroked her side.

"No, but you rarely invite yourself over so abruptly." She told him about the frustrations of her day, especially about Will's nerves and her problems with the department. She didn't include all the details as it would be a bit much for pillow talk, but he got the main points.

"So, I just needed a bit of stability and comfort." She looked up at him, but his face was mostly hidden as he stared up at the ceiling.

"And I provide those for you? Even now?" His hand slid down more towards her hips. Thankfully, he tone remained light, playful even.

"In some ways." He pulled her just a hair closer to him.

"Thank you for sharing your concerns about Will. I hadn't realized he harbored any doubts about returning to the field." She slowly released one last calming breath and rubbed circles into his chest with her thumb. Will wasn't really what she wanted to talk about, but then she should have known not to bring him up. He was a favorite topic for Hannibal. Given their history, it made sense, but did every conversation have to link back to Will? Hannibal had done her a great kindness tonight, so she followed his lead.

"How are things with Will going?"

"He seems torn between the truth and what is convenient to believe. He must figure out which path he wants to take. I'm confident he'll chose correctly, but it will take time. Though, I do think I can provide some guidance to speed things along. It's my hope that returning to consulting will be a positive experience for his progress." Her brows furrowed at that statement.

"How so?"

"If nothing else, to remind him that there are worse monsters in the world." It was a bad joke, but she smiled anyways even as she continued to worry about him. In lieu of reminding him, once again, to be careful, she decided to play back.

"I don't know. You were pretty terrifying as my mentor." With a predatory laugh, he flipped over so she was now pinned beneath him.

"If I am so terrifying, then what does this say about you? Are you telling me our whole relationship is just Stockholm Syndrome?" She offered the best flirtatious shrug she could provide under the circumstances. His teeth grazed the skin under her ear. "Well if I really hold you captive, it is my responsibility to see you don't get fired. I promised to review your articles. Get dressed and we'll take a look."

* * *

Since last night's discussion with Alana, Hannibal was anxious for Will's appointment. Though she'd interpreted his statements differently, he'd been honest when he said he didn't realize Will was doubtful of his capabilities. Before he could formulate how things should proceed, he needed to know the exact nature of Will's fears. Was Will coming to accept everyone's assertions that he was not the Chesapeake Ripper, and therefore doubted his gifts? Or did he fear empathizing too greatly with a new killer would touch that potential Hannibal was dying to see unleashed? He knew he wouldn't ask directly, but it was something to watch for. If nothing else came of the session, he at least looked forward to hearing Will describe this man.

They spent almost no time on pleasantries. They both realized there were more important things to discuss. Immediately, Will volunteered what happened with Jack at the stables, what he'd detected from both the crime scene and the suspect. Though Will confided that he thought the suspect was not the killer, Hannibal enjoyed the idea of this thought process belonging to a single individual.

"One dead thing giving birth to another. A bird, his victim's new beating heart. The soul given wings" It was so poetic. He wanted to write that down and give it eternal life. It was not a shattered teacup coming back together, but he saw that essence contained in the gesture.

"Rebirths can only ever be symbolic."

"You've been reborn." For someone so perceptive, at times Will truly missed the art of a moment.

"Wasn't that the goal of my therapy?" The comment was frustratingly literal. This conversation needed adjustment.

"How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time it nearly destroyed you." He couldn't help adding that last barb. Could Will not see how far he'd come already?

"Last time, you nearly destroyed me." _Transformed_. Once again, the poetry was missed. He swallowed his frustration and looked down. The act would continue until Will could see this.

"After everything that has happened, Will, you still believe—"

"Stop right there." It was said with such authority, he had to obey. "You may have to pretend, but I don't." The walls Will carried with him were down in this moment and Hannibal knew this is how he wanted every moment to be between them. He wished he could reciprocate.

"No you don't. Not with me." How much he tried to convey in those two phrases.

"I don't expect you to admit anything you can't. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don't lie to me." This was a development he had not expected, but there was great promise in this direction. He would have to tread carefully though.

"Will you return the courtesy?" He didn't need Will to answer. He saw it all over his face. The veil between them was not lifted, but it was many degrees more transparent. He took the upper hand in the conversation. "Why have you resumed your therapy?"

"I can't talk to just any psychiatrist about what's kicking around my head." Unfortunately, he knew what Will referred to.

"You fantasize about killing me." He had hoped the subject of these impulses had changed.

"Yes."

"Tell me, how would you do it?"

"With my hands." It was personal, an improvement from a gun. He approved.

"Then we haven't moved past apologies and forgiveness, have we?"

"We've moved past a lot of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed."

"That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good." He agreed. It was a welcome admission even if he still feared he was Will's target. Was he? This next answer could change everything. Had he done enough? "I need to know if you're going to try to kill me again, Will."

"I don't want to kill you, Dr. Lecter. Not when I finally find you interesting." Things could continue to proceed. No, Will did not want to join him yet, but he was trying to understand. In that, Hannibal would be happy to aid him.

* * *

The morning after discovering the gravesites, Will found himself arguing with Jack in his office.

"You seriously believe Peter Bernadone is capable of killing sixteen people when he can barely make eye contact while holding a conversation?"

"You don't need to make eye contact when killing someone, Will. We don't know how his brain is wired. What I do know is that he dug up Sarah Craber, put a bird in her chest, and sewed her into a horse to bring her back to life. That looks like guilt to me. How do I know that Peter Bernadone isn't another Garrett Jacob Hobbs?" Something snapped in him and he yelled before he could stop himself.

"Because that's not how he thinks, Jack! Garrett Jacob Hobbs poisoned everything he touched. He destroyed what he tried to honor. Peter Bernadone was trying to right a monster's wrongs." He breathed hard as he tried to get control of himself. Jack liked rationality. He needed him to see this. "You can see this too. Peter's known actions both in his background and within the crime were intended to do good. He knows who the monster is, and we need to find him before we lose Peter." Jack's eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned forward onto the desk. Will sat back down only now realizing he was standing.

"Are you identifying with Peter and projecting on to him what happened to you?" Something cold flashed in Will's stomach. It was a fear he'd had, but he knew after much reflection and talking to Hannibal that he was not wrong.

"There are similarities, but no. I'm sure of this. It's all there for you to see too." Jack stared him down for a moment longer.

"I just had to make sure, Will. I think you're right, and because there are similarities between you two, I want you to talk to him again. Do whatever you need, but I want a name or a confession." Will nodded and stood up to leave. Jack stopped him. "But Will, if it looks like he did do it, I need to know you'll be okay with that." The part of Hannibal's voice that lingered in his head recalled a conversation to the surface.

"There's light and dark in all of us, Jack. The proportions are just different. That might be the case here." Jack looked reassured. "Can I have the bird?"

Fours hours later, he called Jack with a name and contact information. They were going to catch the monster that plagued Peter. Driving back to DC, Will felt such a level of righteousness at this victory. He'd described Hannibal to Peter and he'd laid the image of his own monster over it. Catching this one, this Clark Ingram, was the next step to catching Hannibal. They were so similar that when placed side by side, no one would be able to deny Will's conclusions. It wouldn't matter that the evidence wasn't there. They'd have to clear Chilton and haul Hannibal away in his stead. This was a victory for Peter and for Will. His mood was so good that he offered no protests to Jack's decision to have Hannibal there to also witness Alana's interview the next afternoon. If anything, it was the perfect set-up.

* * *

Alana finished her fifth green tea of the day and gave her appearance one last inspection in the bathroom mirror before heading for the interrogation room. Between the caffeine and the effects of a good class that morning, she felt ready for this interview. Jack had sent her the case files last night and prepped her on the angle she might want to take. If his and Will's suspicions were right, not only had this man killed sixteen women, but he was also framing the very person he was hired to rehabilitate. She had to fight back her disgust before opening the door. Innocent until proven guilty. She used a mental exercise she often recommended to patients and placed all those negative thoughts into a box. He was like a new patient. Only an open mind would find the truth. Adapting her most professional, pleasant demeanor, she opened the door and greeted him.

At first glance, he appeared to be exceedingly average. Her first thought was the generic accountant archetype one might see in movies. He looked harmless and even boring. But his cool, measured responses and the hollowness of his eyes as he confirmed him name, date of birth, address, and place of employment chilled her to the bone. Not every killer had those eyes, but she'd never met someone who looked like that who wasn't a killer. She asked him how long he'd worked with Peter and what his impressions of him were. He gave a straight fact and then immediately began to spin a tale of a completely broken machine that was every social worker's nightmare. Every thought seemed to spiral around to how he'd been negatively impacted through this assignment. It was textbook narcissism. More frighteningly, it was paired with a complete lack of empathy. She played into it, asking him about himself, justified his real worldview, and pressed him on his feelings but though he used emotional words, they rang empty. This man, a social worker charged with helping those most vulnerable in society, scared her. Chilton, the Chesapeake Ripper who'd mutilated and eaten his victims, hadn't even scared her like Chris Ingram did. And he was sly. Though she could create a damning profile for him, she could garner no incriminating details. When Jack's voice called over the intercom to let him go, she played the calm, cordial part as she escorted him to the security guards, but she found her hand resting over the abdomen that was just beginning to thicken. Why would she want to bring a child into a world populated with such monsters? Jack exited the observation room and she fell into step with him, all trace of pleasantries gone.

"You have to find a reason to catch him, Jack. He's dangerous."

"You know as well as I there is no reason to hold him." She knew that, but it wasn't good enough.

"At least tell me you can provide extra security for Peter Bernadone until you have that reason. He's in danger."

"I also don't have evidence for that. Everything he said showed he was afraid of Bernadone, not violently hostile. Besides, if anything happens to him, we will have our reason."

"That's cold, Jack. He's a victim as much as Sarah Craber."

"He's not entirely innocent. At best, Peter will face charges as an accessory to murder." She stopped dead in her tracks and Jack turned to face her.

"You defended Will after he did worse things, and you won't help this man." Jack took a step forward, but she didn't back down.

"You didn't defend Will after he claimed to be the same kind of victim you see Peter Bernadone as." His words were a slap, but it just made her angrier.

"Chris Ingram is more of a monster than Will ever imagined Hannibal being." Something flashed across Jack's face, but she was too angry to analyze it. His posture relaxed.

"I'm sorry, Alana. I don't have any justification. It's an unfortunate fact of the system. You did all you could, and it was exemplary. Now submit your report." He turned back the way they'd just come. She was furious, but she did as she was told. Jack was right, and the best she could do now was to ensure when they caught him properly that he could be brought to justice.

* * *

Jack didn't quite stand over Will as he filed his official observations on the session, but he did ensure that Will didn't leave the building until a respectable hour. That hadn't stopped him and Hannibal from coming up with a plan though. Jack warned them not to go after Peter. Anything that happened would not be sanctioned by the FBI, but that didn't matter. Will saw the moral limits of the legal system and Hannibal had his own code entirely. As Will saw it, they were obligated to act. Hannibal drove since Will didn't trust himself not to get pulled over. He just hoped they weren't too late.

"When you said Ingram's actions could be the result of resentment, did you believe that or were you playing devil's advocate?" Will asked part way through. It was a statement that bothered him for some reason. He felt Hannibal was implying something, and he couldn't place it.

"I don't believe it's true in this case, but it is always a possibility one must consider. Many times one powerful emotion or motive can be read as insanity. It changes the flavor of the crime."

"Why do you kill?" Hannibal only smiled. Naturally, he wouldn't answer so obvious a question. Will dropped the conversation. It would only agitate him and he needed to focus on Peter. His hand rested on the gun holstered on his belt. What would they find? Hannibal, however, was not ready to end this.

"You look like a man who's suffered an irrevocable loss."

"I'm trying to prevent one."

"Do you think if you save Peter Bernadone you can save yourself?" He was annoyed that they were having an impromptu therapy session at this moment.

"Save myself from what, Dr. Lecter?"

"From who you perceive me to be." He hit the nail on the head and in that moment, it sounded ridiculous. He didn't want to admit that though. A creeping nervousness about what might happen in the barn worked its way into his throat and he confessed that. Hannibal would like to hear he was afraid he might become a killer tonight, someone who would enjoy taking this life. He saw parallels between him and Peter, and he saw similarities to their monsters, but their darkness was not the same. How could two shades of black be so different? Eventually, they lapsed into silence.

They found Peter in the stable part of the barn stitching together the rotting, putrid remains of a horse, the same horse used for Sarah Craber. They slowed their pace and approached cautiously. They were too late, but not in the manner expected.

"Peter, is your social worker in that horse?"

"Yes." He said some other things, and Hannibal responded, but Will was momentarily lost in mourning. Once again, a monster had forced someone to become a killer against their will. Will knelt down next to him as Peter ceased sewing. "I think… I think he deserves to die."

"But you didn't deserve to kill him, Peter." Not that Peter wasn't justified. Likely, it was self-defense, but he didn't deserve to betray the very fabric of his being in this manner. "I want you to come with me." He helped Peter stand and walked him to the tack room. They should call the police, but he wasn't ready. That call would condemn Peter to the fate he himself had barely escaped. "What was done to you was cruelty for cruelty's sake." In Hannibal's defense, Will could not make that claim. There was a goal that one could defend as being more than self-satisfying. Hannibal had tried to transform him, make him in his own image. Peter was just a pawn.

"I… I think I hate him." Faced with the words from an alternate reality of himself, Will was faced with a hard truth. He didn't hate Hannibal. He was furious and betrayed, but he could not hate him.

"I envy you your hate. It makes it easier when you know how to feel."

"Makes what easier?"

"Killing."

"I didn't kill him. I just wanted him to understand what it's like to suffocate and the death that he creates." Will drew his gun and charged back into the stables. Hannibal was petting a sheep when he arrived.

"He's still alive," he whispered to him. As if summoning a devil, Chris Ingram's hand worked through the stitches and ripped his way back into the world. Hannibal moved to stand between them, obscuring Will's view in the process.

"Mr. Ingram. Might want to crawl back in there if you know what's good for you." It was equal parts smooth and threatening. He strolled away to give Will a clear view of his now standing and armed target. Shoot? Arrest? Shoot? Arrest? Hannibal was there in this darkness with him, but Will was in the lead. It was his choice. Ingram slowly fell to his knees, free hands now in the air as Will walked forward.

"Officer, I'm the victim here."

"I'm not an officer. I'm Peter's friend."

"Peter's confused." Like he'd been confused. It was an excuse used to hide any number of inconvenient truths. He might have been confused then. He was confused about many other things, but he wasn't now.

"I'm not. Pick up the hammer." It would look like self-defense. Hannibal would corroborate that.

"Will." He ignored him.

"Pick. It. Up."

"It won't feel the same, Will. It won't feel like killing me." Of course not. This would be easier.

"It doesn't have to."

"You did the best anyone could have done for Peter. Don't do this for him. If you're going to do this, Will, you're going to have to do it for yourself." He would do it for Peter, because Peter was not a killer, not yet anyways, but he was. _Doing bad things to bad people feels good_. It did, and this would. He wanted to feel that way again. Powerful and righteous. He pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened. Shocked, he let Hannibal remove the pistol from his hands and carefully slip his thumb from against the hammer. He'd pushed Will to be a killer, and now he stopped him. Why? His whole body shook as Hannibal nudged him back to the tack room with Peter and called the police and Jack.


End file.
